Newspaper Page Text
1 -V:t..v .v.-t• -l.:r.it.-V:r~f.:t'.U--V. She was very pale, and there were tears in heir eyes but I thought they arose more from a sense of mortification 'than from atoy rfeal love Which she bore for Herbert Langley, and so I did not pity her as I should otherwise have done. FLOYD LIVINGSTON CHAPTER XII. One' bright: morning, about the middle of January, Herbert announced bin in tention of going to Worcester with Anna, who, he said, wished to viiit thf asylum, and as a young physician of his acquaint ance had just commenced practicing tkirc, It would be a good opportunity for them to go over the building. To tins my aunt made no objection, merely propos ing that Ada, too, should go. Afterward I remembered the peculiar look in Her bert's eye as he replied, "Oh, fy. moth er, Ada's nerves are not strong enough to endure it. She can go with me some other time." Accordingly, when breakfast was over, Anna went up' to her room to make the necessary preparations for her ride, while I stood by and gave her whatever assist ance she needed. I observed that every article which belonged to her Slowly The next morning at breakfast both she and my aunt v-vf-v-v I IV was put in iti proper place, but I gave it no further heed, though I did wonder why she kiss ad me so often, turning back even *«ter ah* had reached the door to bid me an other good-bye. the day passed away and night came on, dark, colu anjl stormy. I listened tp the sound of the aleet and hail, Which drove past the window, where I had watched so long for their return. Seven, eight, nine, ten had rung from more than one church dome, and then we gave them up, for the shrill whistle of the last train on which they would be likely to come had long since sounded Id our ears. "They must have stayed sonnnvherft don't you think so?" said my aunt, ad dressing her husband, who, man-like, was not in the least alarmed, but bat .conning his evening paper, nearer asleep than awake."'. "Of course they bhre," said he, look ing up at his wife's inquiry. "I wouldn't come in this storm, if I were in their .places." That night I watered my pillow with tears, scarcely knowing why I wept, .save that I felt oppressed* with a sense of desolation, as If Anna was gone from we forever. The next day came arid went, but it brought no tidings of the missing pair, and half unconscious pf what she was doing, my aunt went from room to room, sometimes weeping and again brightening up, as she enumerat ed the many things which looked weary and worn, as -i if peither had slept at all during the night. My uncle, on the contrary, seem ed unmoved. He probably had an opin ion of his own, but whatever it was he kept it to himself, merely saying that if the Eastern mail brought no letter he would go in quest of them- himself. I knew I could not study in my present excitement, and so I asked permission to remain at' home. Stationing myself at the window, I watched anxiously for the return of Herod, who, as usual, had been sent to the .office. He came at last, bringing his pocket full of letters, r. n«w*« it becomes not a girl of your age to speak thus of him in the presence of hie moth er." TWO of which were for me, one postmarked Sunny Bank and the other Albany. With a trembling hand I tore open the latter, which was in my sister's handwriting. ,31ancing at fhe signature, my fears were confirmed, for there stood the name of "Anna Langley" in Herbert'* bold, dash ling hand. The letter contained no apology from either for what they had done, but mere ly informed me of the fact that instead of stopping in Worcester, they had gone straight to Albany, where-ln lets than au hour they were husband'and wife Herbert's old comrade, Tom Wilson, ac com ponying them, and being a witness of Ma, the ceremony What aff&ted jga, more ^'Ha^leasailtte?than all the?re« -yA» the derisive manner in which Herbert xpoke 'of Ada. "Give her my lore," he said, "and tell her not to feel too badly. I'd like well enough to marry .her, too, but under the present laws a man can't have two wives, unless he joins the Mormons. Maybe I shall do that some time, and then I'll re member her." Of his mother he wrote differently, and though there was no cringing, no ac knowledgment, of wrong, he spoke of her kindly and respectfully, saying ,'^he hoped '.she would love his Anna for nis sake.'V Of course I could not tell Ada wtyat he said of her, neither was it necessary, for guessing the truth from my face, she came up. softly behind itac, and look ing over my shoulder, read every word until she came to the message intended for her. Then stamping her littie foot, she exclaimed passionately, "The villain, to insult me thus! As if It sprung from the best blood of Georgia, ivould stoop to become a rival of that low-born country girl! Not- By this act Herbert Langley has shown that he is all unworthy of me, and I rejoice in my escape, while I give him much joy with his highly refined and polished hrMe." All my Lee temper, which is consid erable, was roused, and turning toward the lady, I exclaimed: "My sister, Miss Montrose, is as good as you, ay, or as Herbert Langley, either, and the news of. her marriage with him will carry sorrow to our home at Sunny Bank, where t.hey will say she has literally thrown herself 'away." "Very likely," returned Ada, sarcas tically. '.'It is quite probable that a ppor laborer will object to his daughter's mar rying into one of the first families in Boston." •"•He isn't a poor laborer," I. replied, ''and even, if he were, he would object to his daughter's marrying a drunkard, for •uch he will be again." A dtep groancame from the white' lips of my annt, and for the first time since Ada's outbresk, I remembered that she .-j was there..- She. did not reprove me sn grily, but in trembling tones she said: '/'Rosa, Herbert is my «hild4 my boy, and I was humbled, and winding my arms about her neck, I asked forgiveness for the harsh words I had spoken, and ehe forgave me, for she meant to do right, and if sometimes she erred, it was owing more to a weakness of the flesh than an unwillingness of the spirit. In the midst of our excitement Tom Wilson was ush ered in. He hud returned in the same train Which brought the letter,- and had come to give us any further inforitidtiou which we might be desirous of knowing. "When will Herbert come home?" was my aunt's first question, her whole man ner indicating how much interest she felt iu the answer. "Not very soon," returned Tom'. "He is tired of the city, he says, and besides that he wishes to-avoid the unpleasant remarks his elopement will necesHirily occasion." "More, like he wishes to avoid intro ducing his''bride into society, which he knows has no wish to receive her," mut tered Ada. Tom paid no attention to this spiteful speech, but continued, "He has drawn his money from the bank, and with it he intends purchasing a, fajm in the west ern part of New York." "An admirable plan," again interrupt ed Ada. "That Lee girl la just calcn lated .for a. farmer's wife." Taken might have prevented their return. At evening Ada came in, and my aunt immediately be gan urging her to spend the night. This she did willingly, seeming very anxious concerning the absence of Hprbert, and feeling, I was rare, a little suspicious that I might know more of his where abouts than I .chose to tell, .for once, when we were alonei she turned toward me and very haughtily asked If 'I had any idea where they were?" "None whatever," said I, and she con tinned: "Has it neTer occurred to you that this Anna Lee manifested altogether too '.marked a preference for a gentleman whom she knew to be engaged 7* ft "The preference was mutual, I re plied. "Herbert liked Anna, and Anna liked Herbert" "And they hare gone off to consum mate that liking by a marriage," inter rupted Ada. ... -I "I do not know that they have, I re f'J turned "bnt such a termination of affairs would not surprise me." alone, there was nothing par-, ticularly disagreeable in the three words "that. Lee girl," but spoken by Ada Mon trosetliey sounded insultingly, and very time!she uttered them I felt my blood boil, for 1, too, was a Lee girl, and I wag sore she included me in the name contemptuous oategory. As Herbert had said, I did not think the disappointment would break her heart. She was too an gry for that, and I believe now, as I did then,* that moat of her feeling: arose from the mortification of knowing that a "poor country girl," as she .called Anna, was preferred to herself. For half an hour or more Tom Wilson and my aunt con versed together, she asking him at least a dozen times "if he did not think Her bert could be induced to return." At last, with quivering lips and flushed cheeks, as if it cost her pride a great effort, she said, "Of course I mean Anna, too, when I' speak of Herbert's return. She is his wife, you say, and though I might perhaps wish it otherwise, it can not now be helped, and if he only would come back to me, I should love her for his sake." In my heart I blessed her for these words, and mentally resolved to leave no argument untried which might bring the fugitives back. But it could not be. Her bert was decided, he said. He meant to be a farmer and live in the country, add ing what he knew would silence his moth er sooner than aught else he could say, "that temptations for him to drink were far greater in the city than in the coun try, and it was for this reason partly that he preferred living in the latter place." And so my annt yielded the point but from the day of her son's desertion there was in her a perceptible change. Far oftener was she found in the house of prayer, and less frequently was she seen in places of amusement, while more than once I heard her in secret asking that her wayward boy might be shielded from the great temptation. "Sunny Bank Station! Stop five min utes for refreshments!" shouted the con ductor and alighting from the noisy, crowded cars, I stood once more in my own native town, gazing with a feeling of delight upon .'the hills, dotted over with the old-fashioned gable-roofed houses, and upon the green, grassy mead ow, through which rolled the blue wat ers. I had not stood thus long when a broad hand was laid upon my shoulder, and the next instant my arms were around the neck of my father, who, I thought, had changed much since I last saw him. It was the loss of Anna, I fancied and when we at last were on our way home, I hastened to speak of her, and to tell him of the favorable re port we heard of Herbert. .But naught which I said seemed to rouse him and at last I, too, fell into the same thoughtful mood in which even old Sorrel shared, for he moved with his head down. When, at last, we reached the hill top, from whfth could be seen a long row of apple trees, now in full bloom, I started up, ex claiming, "Home, sweet home! It never looked half so beautiful to me before." They all had an air of melancholy which puzzled me, and when I was uiane with Lizzie, I asked her the cause why they looked so bad? Bursting into tears, she replied, "This is not our home any longer. We must leave it and go, we don't know where. Pa has signed notes for Uncle Thomas, who has failed, and now the homestead must be sold to pay his debts." It was as Lizzie had Baid. Uncle Thomas Harding was my mother's broth er," who lived in Providence, in far great er style, it was said, than he was able to support. Several times had Aunt Harding visited us, together with her two daughters, Ellen and Theodosia. They were proud, haughty girls, and evi dently looked upon us, their country cousins, with oontempt, only tolerating us. because it was pleasant to have some place in the country where to while away a few weeks, which, in the heated, dusty city, would otherwise hang heavily apqu their hands. In return for all this, they som^tipaes gaveus an old collar, a silk apron, a'soiled ,ribbon, or broken para* —and once, when my parents visited them, they sent us a trunkful of rub bish. My father, who was warmly at tached to my Uncle Thomas, lent him money from time, to time, and signed notes to the amount of several thousand dollars, never once dreaming that in the end hetwould be.ruined, while my unule, influenced by. hismore crafty wife, man aged in some unaccountable way to. main tain nearly ,the:.aame style of. living as formerly^ and if .his proud daughters ever felt* the ills of poverty, it was cer tainly not apparent iu the rich silks and costly furs which they continued to sport. It was a terrible blow to us all, but upon no one did it fall'So heavily-as upon my father, crushing him to the earth, and rendering him nearly as powerless as is the giant oak when torn from its par ent bed by the wrathful storm. The old homestead was endeared tb him by a thousand hallowed association*. It was the home of his boyhood, and around the cheerful fires, which years ago were kin dled on its spacious hearthstone, he had played 'with those who long since had passed from his aide, some to mingle in the great drama of life, and others to that world where they number not by gears. There, too, in his early manhood had he brought his bride, my gentle mother, and on the rough bark of the towering mapfes, by the side of his onn and his brothers' na:nes, wore curvcd those of tils children, all save little Ja mie, who died ere his tiny fingers bad learned the use of knife or hammer. No wonder, then, that his head grew dizzy and his heart sick as lie thought of leav ing it forever and when at last the try ing moment came,, wiien with trembling hand he signed the deed which made hiui homeless, he laid his weary bead upon the hip of his aged mother and wept like a little child. A small house in the village was hired, and after a few weeks' preparation, one bright June morning, when the flowers we had watched over and tended with care were in bloom, when the robins were singing their sweetest songs, and when the blue sky bent gently over us, we bid adieu to the spot, lookiug back with wistful eyes until every trace of our home had disappeared. Farewell for ever to thee, dear old homestead, whtire now other footsteps tread apd other chil dren play than those of "auld lang syne." The lights and shadows of years have fallen upon thee since that summer morn, and with them have come changes to thee as well as to us. "The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well" has been removed the curb, whose edges were worn by childish hands, is gone wfhile in place of the violets and daisies which once blossomed on the grassy lawn, the thistle' and the burdock now are grow ing, and the white rose bush by the door, from whence they plucked the buds which strewed the coffin bed of our baby broth er, is dead. Weeds choke the garden walks, and the moss grows green and damp on the old stone wall. Even the brook which ran so merrily past'our door has bten stopped in its course, and its sparkling waters, bereft of freedom, now turn the wheel of a huge snwmill with a low and sullen roar. All is changed, und though memory still turns fondly to the spot which gave me birth, I have learned to love another home, for where my blessed mother dwells 'tis surely home to me. By her side there is, I know, a vacant chair, and in her heart a lonely void hut while she lives can I not feel that I have indeed a home, though it be not the spot where first she blessed me as her child? I was sitting with my hand over my eyes, but at the sound of that voice I started, and, looking up, saw before me Ada Montrose, and with her the "dark gentleman" who had so much interested me at the theater, instantly throwing my veil over my face, I watched him with a feeling akin to jealousy, while he attended to the comfort of his com panion, who demeaned herself toward bim much as she had donq toward Her bert Langley. As the hours sped on, ha said to her a few low-spoken words, whereupon she laid her head upon his shoulder, as if that were its natural rest ing plhce, while he threw his arm around her, bidding her "sleep if she could." Of course she was his wife, I said, and with much of bitterness at my heart, I turn ed away and watched the slowly moving lights of the canalboats. Whether Ada liked her pillow or not, she clung to it pertinaciously until it seemed to me that her neck must snap asunder, while with a martyr's patience he supported her, dozing occasionally himself. "Bride and groom," I heard a rough looking man mutter, as he passed them in quest of a seat and as this confirmed my fears, I again turned toward the win dow, which I opened, so that the uight air might cool my burning che« ks. (To be continued.) QUEER 8AYING8 OF CHILDREN. Curiona Inquiries and Remarks Mad* by Little Men and Women. A little boy had been naughty, and bis mother, who wished to work upon his feelings, said: "Your naughtiness will worry me to death, and what would you do if I were dead?" The unexpected reply was: "I'd go to the cupboard and take an orange." A kindergarten opens each session by singing a hymn. Each child is giv en his1 turn to choose the hymn. On* little fellow, on being asked what he wished sung, replied: "V^hile shep herds wash their socks by night." A little girl at the breakfast table asked her mother the question: "When you die and I get married can my hus band have your' watch and chain?" A little one whose uncle had died saw him in his coffin, and wild told that he was going to heaven. The day after the funeral she startled her moth er by asking: "Mamma, do you think God has had time to unpack Uncle Ed ward yet?" "jr. A little girl calling. at a neighbor's house, sat near a plate containing some apple parings. At last, unable to keep quiet any longer, she sald|: "I smell ap ples." "Yes," returned the hostess, "it's iiose parings." "No," said the little girl, solemnly. "I small whole apples." The baby of the family had her first view, of a zebra the other day. After gazing at him in some surprise she ex claimed, rapturously: "Oh, see that little horse with a blazer on!" A minister made an interminable call upon a woman of his acquaintance. Her little daughter, who was present, grew weary of the conversation, and whispered: "Didn't he bring his amen with him?" Thomas, on being asked by the teacher where his brother was, replied "He's laid up with a sprained nrrn. We were trying to see which could lean put of the window farthest and he won." A little girl, happening to bear her mother speak of half-mourning, said: "Why are we going into half-mourning, mamma? Are any of our relatives half dead?" Mabel was presented with a doll house, and on being asked how she liked it said: "Very well, but I've let it to Mary for Scents a week." A little boy on his visit to a farm saw the farmer's wife plucking a chicken and asked: "Do you take off their clothe* every night?" Two Soldier 3woman,in'98.home 14 CHAPTER XIII. Many fears were expressed: lest: Anna would miss the society to which .she had been accustomed and when alter the sale of the homestead,, she wrote, asking me to come and live with her, I hesitat ed, for to me it seemed much like bury ing myself from the world, particularly as, she chanced to mention that the school house was a log one, and'that there were in the neighborhood several buildings cf the same material. At last, after many consultations with my parents, I conclud ed to go, and about the middle of No vember I again bid adieu to Sunny Bank. I had never before been west, and when about sunset I looked out upon the de lightful prospect around Albany, I felt a thrill of'delight. In front of us was an unoccupied seat, which I turned to ward me for the better accommodation of my bandbox, and 1 was about settling myself for a nap, when a gentleman hnd lady came in, the latter of whom stop ping near us, said, "Here, Richard, is a vacant seat These folks can't of course expect to monopolize two at the same time she commenced turning the seat back, to the great peril of my bonnet HEROES. Mother Earth! Are thy heroes dead? j„ Do they thrill the soul of the world no more? Are the gleaming shows and the popples red It was not a very satisfactory explana tion, but she laughed at it, and so did some of the sick boys. "When are you coming again?" de manded the boy, suddenly, after a mo ment's conversation, laying a detaining hand upon her dress, as if loth to have her go even then. "Whenever you say," she said lightly, and the lad's face brightened. "To-morrow," he said eagerly. She went back to her home, and all through the night the dark eyes haunted her she made up her mind that on the morrow she would show him a picture she had, and perhaps tell him a little about another boy that had dark, fun loving eyes, and that, 30 odd -years be fore, had worn a blue uniform, top. But when she reached the hospital the next day the jolly-faced boy was too sick to know her, and all through the following week he lay near the shadowy land. But the brave spirit did not quite go out and one day he smiled the recogni tion he was to weak to speak. And as she went home that night a new idea took possession of her why not have him moved to her house. And now that he was out of danger, she could make him more comfortable and nurse him back to health, as years before she had nursed that other black-eyed boy. Her hair was whitening now then it was brown and glossy, and she was young, her life before her. She sighed if only she could know 'what had been the fate of that other, why he had never come back to her! But she had long before given up expecting to know in this world. One day, a week or two later, when the soldier lad was comfortsbly ensconc ed in her home, and was growing strong enough to take interest in his surround ings, he said earnestly, "Why is it you were so good to us fellows in the hos pital? You told me the picture in mil form there is of your father,'that he was an officer in the Confederate army, and ithat your brother was in that army, too, and you know that it was our fathers who fought them." "But that is all over now," Bhe an swered gently. "There were brave sol diers on both sides, and the sons art as brave to-day." But the boy persisted. "Why did you bring me here instead of some of the other fellows?" He was seeking no compliment he asked In direct honesty. "I wish I could have bid the others too," she said, "but if you would like to know why I singled you out, wait, a mo ment, jack and she prent upstairs to her room, quickly reappearing with a pic ture in her hand. This she silently handed to him. The pictured face he saw was that of a young man in soldier's uniform and on the margin was written in firm, man ly hand: "Dorothy, from Edward, till this cruel war is over. April, '63." For a moment the soldier on the couch gased in speechless astonishment at the soldier in the picture. Then the wom an broke the silence. "You see it, too?" she cried, "the strong resemblance? and it was even stronger than It looks there for his eyes were just the color of yours, and the expression was very like. I am the 'Dorothy.' My' name is Dorothy Ashton, his name was Edward Rendall. He was a-Yankee soldier but We found him, my mother and I. wounded in our bapi, where he had dragged himself af ter the battle. We were loyal to. the Confederacy, but my mother was tender hearted and loving, and this soldier, ap parently dying, was just the age of her one son, my only brother, who was fight ing far away from us so with thought of the boy we loved, we took this other, our enemy, into a little hidden room, and nursed him back to life. We grew to care for him for he was a gay, bright fellow, full of fun, even when suffering. He had a mother in the Nok'h whom he had not seen for many weary months. My mother, too, had not seen her soldier son for a long time, and so this estab lished a bond between the Yankee nnd the rebel. And as for Edward and me, all differences fell away when we looked Into each other's eyes. It was no time, then, to talk much of love but when he left us he gave me this picture and I gave him mine and he carried with him my promise to be true till the time when the war was over and he could return.to make me his wife." The woman's voice, which had been growing tremulous, broke then, and a All that Is left of the brave of yore? Are there none to tight as Thetausfought," k-, . Far In the young world's misty dawn? Or teach as the gray haired Nestor taught? Mother Earth! are thy heroes,gone? Gone? In a nobler form they rise Dead? We may clasp their hands In ours, And catch the light of their glorious eyes, And wreathe their brows with Immortal flowers, Whenever a noble deed Is done There are the souls of our heroes stirred Whenever a field for truth is won, There are our heroes' voices heard. Their armor rings ion a fairer field Than Greek or Trojan ever trod 'For Freedom's sword Is the blade they wield, And the light above them the smile of God! So In bis isle of calm delight, Jason may dream the hours away, But the heroes live, and the skies are bright. And the world Is a braver world to-day. —Edna Dean Proctor, In Normal Instructor. was Chickamauga, during Au gust of She WBB a Southern her within a few miles of the camp, but the sick and suffering soldiers that she ministered to in the camp hospital were boys from Northern homes. She had flowers for all, and va rious little delicacies for those that were permitted them and now and then she stopped to brush back the damp locks froin some aching brow,'-'and to try to soothe the pain. Often she would write letters home for them with wonderful sweetness. One day she stood by the side of a boy that would never send another message to his mother, and her tears dropped fast for the 18-year-old hero, now slipping away into eternal rest. She could not bear any more that day, and turned to go, but as she neared the entrance her eyes fell on a face she had not teen be fore she smiled-back at the pair of jolly dark eyes that met her own. The owne^ lay prostrate with lines of pain in his face but a laughing mouth, and the mis chievous eyes showed grit and fun. She was irresistibly drawn to the boy, and was thankful she had a few flowers left to offer him. "Thank you," laughed the soldier lad, adding mischievously, "I knew I was gof ing to get those." "How?" she asked, interested. "Oh," he said, gravely, "I had my eye on them, and I knew you wouldn't go by." tear fell on the coverlet. Then she went on quietly: "My dear, he did not come back, and I have never heard of him since, bat I have been true to him through all these years, and I know in my heart that he was true to me, and that, somewhere, before/that terrible conflict was over, death claimed him. You see now that it was because of your resemblance to him that I brought you to my home." It 1 As she finished, the boy before her, whose face was strangely sobered, reached up and clasped her hand. "Now, let me finish the story for you," he said, earnestly. "You are right. He was true to you—he was. For your Ed ward Rendall was my uncle, my mother's brother! That explains the resemblance they have always told me I looked very much like him. The picture is dated April, '63, three months after that he was again wounded, got better, and was furloughed home on the way he was taken down with fever, and was brought to a New York hospital. He grew rap idly worse, and his folks were sent for. His mother reached him .just as he was sinking into unconsciousness. He rallied a moment when he saw her. 'Mother,' he said, and, handing her a picture of a girl, he murmured 'Dorothy.' .It was the last word he uttered, and they never knew who 'Dorothy' was. But my grand mother kept the picture and had it plac ed with one of his, both in the same frame, and my mother has them now." For a few moments their tears fell to gether, the convalescent soldier lad and the fwoman with the whitening hair. Then she brought him some supper, and fretted a little lest the excitement might make him ill again. A few weeks after Jack returned to his Northern home but he did not forget his friend in the South. He and his mother sent many letters to her in the months that followed, and on Memorial Day, "99, when so many women decorat ed the new-made graves of their soldier dead, Dorothy Ashton, with Jack and his mother, visited a cemetery in Massa chusetts, and laid, for the first time, a beautiful wreath upon the grave of her soldier-lover, who had died true to her and had slept his peaceful sleep for more than thirty-five years.—Boston Tran script ORIGIN OF MEMORIAL DAY. Bafos P. Parrish of Kewanee Creed Commemoration of tke Dead, Memorial Day originated with a man who was recently followed to the grave at Kewanee, 111., by one of the largest throngs of old soldiers that ever attend ed'a funeral in a town of like size. The name of this man was Rufus P. I'arrisb and it is admitted that a letter he wrote to Senator John A. Logan was chiefly instrumental in the action of Con gress in establishing a day on which throughout the nation graves of the Union dead should be strewn with flow ers and their brave acts commemorated. is a matter of history that the cus tom of decorating graves of soldiers was commenced in Kewanee in 1863, five years before Senator Logan, secured the action of Congress appointing a memo rial day. It is known here that Mr. Par rish, who had always taken the greatest interest in this observance, wrote an ur gent letter to Senator Ixgan, urging him to take into serious consideration legis lation that would set aside a day on which all could join in memorial ser vices. Aside from the interest that Mr. Par rish took in such patriotic movements he had a very interesting history. His grandfather on his mother's side carried a flint-lock musket in the Revolutionary War, and the father of his father was a recruiting officer in the^war of 1812. He was one of fifteen men to organize the first Y. M. C. A. in the United States.- During the war of the rebellion and before be was an outspoken aboli tionist and figured prominently in under ground railroad work by which slaves es caped to Canada. He was in the fore front of nearly every movement of en lightenment of the community serving to foster libraries and lectures.' Mr. Parrish was born in New Hamp shire about eighty-seven years ago and came to Illinois in April, 1835. He is survived by his faithful wife, with whom he dwelt in wedlock for the unusual term of sixty-four years. A Straggler of '08. Alone the line of march of '63, I Ana a lonely, sunken grave, unmarked Yet well I know the soldier sleeping here A comrade brave as any hero dead Or living, footsore, weary, fallen out With leave at rest so well he bears breath Of lulling summer winds, nor fiercest shriek Of the November blast. .. No glory of A bloody field Is 'round about him. but The grsss grows green, and graceful trees still Woo The breesc to music whose sweet words are ''Rest, Brave comrade, sleep snd rest and still, above The drifting snows, tbe winter winds shout "Victory!" His monunient Is high In all hearts: BIS fame Is bright with laatel, for all time, .... j, —Albert C^ llopklns. THE BISHOP'S SON. Twas told to me in the smoker as we rode into Omaha from Cheyenne. The narrator was a tall, gaunt man with the scar of a saber cut on his left cheek. He refused cigars, but when' asked to tell a story, quietly began. I knew instantly it was in some, way Connected with' him self. We always hesi tate a little whe^ re lating our own experiences, but never an other's. Well, that man's story, as near as I can repeat it, was this: In a, small Northwestern town one thir tieth of May, a. Memorial Day service was held in the big Union church. Among tbe speakers was the Episcopal bishop of the State, who had worn the blue back in the '60s. The gray-haired soldier was fall and strong yet. The burdens of life had not bent his muscular form, nor had the con flicts marked his calm, good face. But bis eyes! They were the saddest I ever saw. When people looked deep into them, they reflected such scenes of sorrow that women would cry and men did not care to look very long. When I came to think of it afterward, the man in the car had the same kind of eyes. But to get on With his story. Just before the old bishop began his addreaa, a man had stolen in and seated himseft in one of tbe back pews. Some eyed him suspiciously and wondered how he had es caped the ushers. He was such a ragged fellow and looked as if he needed a good meal more than anything else in life. But there he was. And if a fellow ever took' everything in,'that one did. And he tried to join in the national anthem, got out of tune, turned around to see if anyone no ticed it, then gave his. shoulders a pecu liar lift, and slopped. When the old bishop stood up to speak the stranger gave his words the closest attention. First he told about the sol diers who were bivouacked in their green tents out on the hills. Then about those who hadn't any graves', but were left down on the bullet-torn meadows of the South. Afterward of those who had gone away with their mothers' team staining their new blue coats. Where were they all to-day? Some had come proudly home with gold stars glittering on their shoul ders others—God help them!—had de serted from the right and were ashamed to come, but'they would return some day if thfey Were alive. Then he began to tell of his own son, 'a yellow haired chap who had carried the Union colors up to the second battle of Bull. Run. Till, then they had fought together, almost side by side. But one day he saw the boy get a saber cut on the face and fall. It was hard to leave him, but the command was to advance. Since then he had not seen him. Once he saw his name among those who had deserted and were fighting on the Southern side. Qh, that he might have been spared this. Better their true sons dead than his perhaps living, but-—! Still he would not wish bim back, unless he came as a good soldier, winning in the ranks of the Greait Leader, a follower of the Christ. At this point the ragged fellow got out of his pew and started slowly up the mid dle aisle. The ushers arose to put bim out, but the speaker raised his hand and they stepped back. With great firmness he walked unconscious of the excitement until he reached the altar steps. For a moment those two men looked into each other's eyes. The one fell down on his knees while the other laid his hands upon the bowed head. The church was silent. One could hear the clock bung on the rail ing near the orgau loft tick off the sec onds. "My friends"—the bishop's voice was husky and strained—"you all see this man. I loved him once, when he was a boy. Since then he has deserted his country's flag, stolen from his fellows, wronged his old father. But to-day he has come back and asks to be given a chance to begin again." Gently he lifted the tear-stained face so. that their eyes met once more. "Do you, in the presence of God and these people, renounce the life you have lived, and do you willingly take up the banner to light against sin and yourself?" "I do." The answer Was low, but it echoed through the church as the old bishop stretched his hands to heaven and cried: "I have cast my prayers upon the wat ers and they have returned to me .to-day, my son, oh, my son." Just then the loud voice of the conduc tor called "Omaha." Some hurried to get.their baggage, but I walked up town with the bishop's son to see the Memorial Day parade.—Florence Munroe, in De troit Free Press. Alexander tbe Great, about B. G. 400, made an attempt to introduce many Asiatic plants Into Europe. Rice was among tbe number, hut the Greeks did not take kindly to its cultivation, preferring to Import It from India and Egypt. DECORATION DAY. 5 ., "Don't cry, grandma, you'll see him again somt time."—Chicago Record a :vfVv"-VA •Jor. A offlcer^Ms Africa 4H iloned major. Hard ra the Major. .Among the assembled r*cent supper In 8outh Africa! TOTy pompom, aelf-oplnloned whose rank commanded for him a re spectful hearing, but whoae habit of Instructing his brethren In matters mil itary both In knad out of season mads him rather unpopular. Captain W— and the major sat side by side at the table, and the martial potentate voiced bis opinions In his usual manner. The captain bore the, Infliction humbly for a season then, taking advantage of a pause, when the major wanted to take breath, he said, very complacent ly and Irrelevantly "Do you know, major, I .met a man this morning who would gladly: forfeit fifty pounds for the pleasur^of kicking you?" "Kicking me, sir!" roared the angry major "kicking me! I must ask yon to mention his name Immediately. "But the fact Is, major, I am not sure that I ought to tell you," replied the captain, with well-assume tlon. "But I Insist on knowing bis KoBie at once, sir!" shouted the truculew offi cer, now red with rage. "Well, sir, I suppose I must tell you. It was a poor .fellow In the hospital, who has lost both legs by the bursting of a shell." Sensational Case. Alston, Mich., May 25:—Houghton County has never witnessed a more striking medical case than that of Mr. James Culet of this place. Mr. Cultft had spent a small fortune with the best physicians in the county and in addition to this he has tried every medicine he could hear of. He had a very bad case of Rheuma tism and Kidney Trouble, from which he had suffered for twenty years. Noth ing he could get seemed to do hint any good, arid he was gradually grow ing worse. He has no Rheumatism now and ex plains it thus: "One day I happened to see an ad vertisement of Dodd's Kidney Pills and decided to try them. "I made up my mind to give good, fair trial, as my case was bad one and was of over twenty^ standing, "I used altogether 42 boxes __ can truthfully say that they have driv en out every trace of the Rheumatism. "I feel like a new man, and I can and do moat heartily recommend Dodd's Kidney Pills for Rheumatism and Kidney double." No Go. "When yon stepped on that gentle man's foot, Tommy, I hope you apolo gized?" "Oh, yes, indeed, I did," said Tommy, "snd he gave me sixpence for being a good boy." "Did he? And what did you do then "Stepped on the other one and apolo gized, but it didn't work."—Tid-Bits. Following Custom. "Whoop!" yelled the excited inebriate, as he rushed into the hotel. "I'm a ter ror! I'm a man eater! I'm the biggest gun that ever hit tbe pike! Wow!!!"' "It's customary," (remarked the bouftc sr, as he gazed at the subsequent outside, "when a gun is loaded, "t!"—Baltimore News, THE "SCARE HEAD" WRITER. The public which glances hurriedly OVCT Its paper every day, gathering the gist of the news from tbe head lines, does not always realize the dif ficult problems which come to the| writer of head-lines. He must not only, announce as much as possible, but must do It in words which contain only a given number of letters, in or der that the heading may just fit tlie|/^ width of the column. The Sunny South] prints a story, very true to life, which, shows how professional writers of, headlines carry their troubles homei with them. The young man with a tired look sati in the rear end of the car, staring atl an advertisement I "English beauty shoes," he mumbled' to his companion. "That's what says." "Yes," said the other, "but that's short" "H'm, h'm!" the tired man repli "Beautiful shoes from England "That won't fit it's too long," waa the reply. "Well, then, 'Beautiful English •hoes "That's only three words. You've got to have four, you know." I iledl it •m? 1 "That's so, that's so. Ah, I have it!"i be cried, so loud tbat all the other passengers In the car gave a jump. "'English shoes of beauty'—twenty three'letters and spaces. At last, at last!" A compassionate old man looked up| from his newspaper. "What the matter with your friend?" he asked. "Is the poor fellow crazy?" "Oh, no," the other man replied, as suringly. "You see, he's just got through with bis night's work on a morning newspaper. He is a head line writer, and after a fellow baa scribbled off head-lines for eight hours steady, he contracts the habit, and can't get over it. Every advertise mentor bit of writing that he sees for several hours afterward until his mind gets rested—well, he begins to count the letters and spaces, and turn the wording Into a head-line that will fit. It Isn't exactly Insanity it's habit." DOCTOR ON FOOD. Experimented on Himself. A physician of Gallon, O., says: "For the last few years 1 have been a sufferer from indigestion,, and although I have used various remedies and prepared foods with some benefit it was not until I tried Grape-Nuts that I was completely cured. "As a food it is pleasant and agreeable, very nutritious and is digested and assim ilated with very little effort on the part of the digestive organs. As a nerve food and restorer it has no equal and as such is especially adapted to students an£ other brain workers. It contains the elements necessary for the building of nerve tissue and by so doing maintains an equilibrium of waste and repair. "It also enriches the blood by giving an increased number of red blood corpus cles and in this way strengthens all the organs, providing a vital fluid made more nearly perfect. I take great pleasure in recommending Its use to my patients, for I value it as a food nnd know It will ben efit all who use It" Name furnished by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Mich.